


"Phobetor, I'm Not Sure You're Helping Here!"

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-20 23:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The horrors of war, a team of wild-card cons, a Dragon, and a Greek god of nightmares - now isn't that a lovely prescription for a good night's sleep!Just why he took such an interest in the women of Clan O'Donnell, no one had ever figured out. Still, every generation or so there were reports of him taking special notice of at least one or two of them.  Sometimes the relationship was almost a cautiously friendly one, but only when the Clanswoman was one of the stronger ones.  Frankly, Meghada ru Dragan would just as soon have done without the experience; she seemed to be able to come up with enough nightmares and nightmare situations on her own, without his help.  What really puzzled her wasn't his visiting, but his propensity to stay and chat.  Let's face it, very few considered her a pleasing conversationalist!  Blunt, totally non-subtle, flat-out rude, yes, she'd been told she was all of those, more than once; oddly, Phobetor seemed to appreciate all of that more than you'd expect from an ancient Greek god.  Go figure!!   Still, she didn't see his being around would help with the challenges she and the team now faced!





	1. "A Remarkable Child!  I Do Hope They Don't Shoot Her; It Would Be Such A Waste!"

**Author's Note:**

> Phobetor - Greek personification of nightmares. Considered a god by many, especially himself - just ask him!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hell of a mission, now in custody awaiting judgment by three idiots calling themselves senior officers, a highly aggravated Meghada wasn't sure an unexpected personal appearance by Phobetor, the Greek personification of nighmares helped the situation any. Though, he did cut a rather handsome and striking figure in that rather inadequately draped shendyt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was the initial introduction of the Theron children. They reappear along with Garrison and the team in the story posted under 'The Persuaders' string, titled 'Wrong End of the Stick'. Twenty some odd years later, and Goniff is starting to complain about the competition!

Meghada woke in the darkness of the small rather claustrophobic room she'd been allocated in London HQ. There was possibly a guard outside the door, maybe the one who had escorted her here; she didn't bother to check; as long as he stayed outside, she was too tired to care.

She hated staying at HQ, even under the best of circumstances, which this wasn't. Even though it was expected for her to stay put, what with her sort of being under house arrest at the moment, she still could have found a way out, except that she was almost exhausted and thought even a few hours sleep would sharpen her wits to deal with the fricking idiots who seemed to populate HQ anymore. Or maybe they had always been there, but her patience had been stronger to deal with them in the beginning. Her patience seemed to be wearing to the texture of rice paper, or maybe cobwebs, anymore.

She'd spent four hours having them yell at her for disobeying orders to stand down from the mission. Yeah, she'd disobeyed orders; no shit! She wasn't under contract anymore; they'd asked her to go with Ainsley's team and get those three defectors out of Italy; well, she'd done exactly that. And pulled one of Ainsley's team out of that crossfire! 

A groan escaped her as she realized once again how much her body ached. Not just from that tumble she'd taken getting back out with the last one; her muscles were just about played out by then, and when the rock had slipped beneath her feet, she'd had to twist in mid-air to be sure she came down on the bottom, not on top of the terrified four-year old she'd had in her arms. No, it had been the whole mission, starting with that hell of a parachute jump into rocky terrain, then the trek through the mountains on foot; none of the team had been in actually prime condition by the time they got to the target. Their 'Mr. Expert Observer Clivedon' had to just about be carried that last stretch after they ran into the patrol; his body AND his nerve just couldn't keep up. She'd added to the aches and pains with Briggs, of course; Lennie wasn't a particularly heavy guy, but he'd been unconscious and a, pardon the expression, dead weight. Luckily not in reality. Dead, that is. 

They get back, Briggs gets carted to the hospital, the rest of them wait six hours for some desk jockeys to come around for the debriefing; next thing she knows she's separated out and taken to that delightful little interview with Larry, Moe and Curly, as she now thought of Colonel David, Major Nestle, and Major Tanner.

SO Briggs was the one supposed to go in after the three; well, he was down for the count and she had the skills to get the job done. Ainsley had been for it; it had just been that HQ tagalong who'd decided to scrub the mission, at least the mission they'd been told about, substituting a rather different one. Seems what he thought of as 'just a quick walk in the park' turned out to have big bad tigers in the underbrush and the frickin desk jockey had shit his pants! And because HE needed a change of clothes, they were supposed to let those three people die? Or more precisely, cause their deaths?? Like hell! While they'd been arguing, she'd given Jimmy the signal and she'd cut out for the compound. 

'Defectors', they'd told the team. Yeah, right - three kids, held as 'incentive' for their scientist parents to do business with the Nazi's. Not what she'd call defectors. Well, the three were here now, in friendly hands, if not completely safe, at least safer than in the hands of their friendly neighborhood Gestapo stooges OR the lamebrains up at HQ. Lennie was here, being patched up. Ainsley and his team were, well she didn't know where Ainsley and the rest of his team were exactly. Clivedon, the tagalong, was probably having a nervous breakdown somewhere; he'd been screeching like a little kid in the debriefing and later in her little 'discussion' with the three stooges. 

Well, no matter where all of them were, she was here; she'd been allowed a fast shower, and there had been coffee and sandwiches during their wait for the debriefing, so she was relatively content to wait til morning to get the hell out of here. She'd think of something then. She spared a thought for the Cottage, the comfort and warmth waiting for her there, felt a smile as she thought of her laddie, well, both her lads now though in somewhat different ways, different degrees; her eyes drifted shut to the vision of pale blue eyes, bright green eyes smiling back at her, and she again slept.

Now, dreams, dreams swirling within dreams, enough she felt somewhat dazed as she forced herself awake. Certainly HE was an unexpected sight, standing at the foot of her bed, tall, strongly-built, golden skin, arms folded over that broad chest, clad only in a rather inadequate wrapped and folded linen shendyt covering him from waist to upper mid-thigh; perhaps the most unexpected part of the visitor was his head, seeming to shift hazily from that of a very handsome man to that of an equally handsome eagle. She blinked several times and sat up, long red braid hanging over her shoulder to her waist; she was dressed in a loose shirt, but not buttoned so it hung open, and she made no attempt to pull the thin coverlet up to conceal her full breasts. She rather doubted he cared one way or the other, after all the women he'd seen in all his many, many years. 

"Phobetor," she greeted him complacently, only to have those handsome lips turn down in a pout.

"You were supposed to be afraid, you know; I don't know that I like being taken so calmly."

"Well, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I think my fear mechanism has become a trifle jaded recently."

"Um, yes, I do see where that could happen," he admitted. He had come to invade her dreams, share a little worry and dismay, maybe even a little despair. He'd even set aside a goodly amount of terror he was intending to drop into her subconscious. He'd had such plans, and then she'd gone and spoiled it all. 

He glanced over at the small mirror on the wall, frowned; his head shifted again, settled, him being rather fond of that majestic vision of himself, especially the profile. He started to pout again, but found it was more difficult with an eagle's beak than you might think, quite painful in fact, so he gave up the effort. Besides, he was curious.

"Do you mind if I sit?" he asked, and wonderingly, but with great caution, she motioned him to the chair beside her bed. Ignoring her, he perched on the bed beside her, getting an distinctly rude roll of her eyes.

"Oh do make yourself comfortable," she told him dryly, and he nodded.

"Oh, I intend to do just that." 

He looked at her, frown now apparent, "you are a disappointment to me, young woman, a most severe disappointment. Here I spent all that time coming up with some delightfully troublesome things to drop into your dreams, and what happens? I take a look to see where I can fit them in tidily, and I find nothing I brought with me can compare to what you already have there! Such torment, such angst, such worry! What unspeakable things you have witnessed, have heard about and subsequently have imagined. Fear for ones you love, anger at those who threaten them, grim knowledge that you cannot protect them from all those ills, anguished forebodings of what could come. Quite a mish-mash you have going in there, my dear. You know, I must say, I don't much like this modern world. Oh, mankind could always create a goodly number of nightmares, to be sure, but never to the extent my siblings and I could. Now, well, it's hardly worth the effort anymore for all the amateur competition." 

He pulled out a long-stemmed pipe, "you don't mind if I smoke, do you? I'm afraid I've rather gotten addicted," and without her approval or any action from him, a gentle whisp of smoke drifted upwards.

She inhaled, blinked several times to clear her watering eyes and swallowed deeply, "should I even ask what that is??!"

He looked offended, "why? Do you not care for the aroma?"

"Oh, it's luscious, Phobetor," she responded dryly, "essence of charnel house mixed with cess pit, with just a touch of gangrene?"

"Ah, you have a good nose, my dear. You got it just right, except for missing the splash of fresh blood."

Her face was grim, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I've smelled so much of that recently I've rather become innured to it. I'll pay more attention next time." He nodded his serene forgiveness. 

"So, tell me, child. Did you really run into Stalkers? And ones with mesmeric abilities? I wonder, I once knew a Stalker who had a brief fling with a Siren oh, a few thousand years ago; his mate was MOST annoyed, of course; took his head off with her claws and cooked him up for dinner as I recall. In a casserole with cheese and onions, I believe. There were rumors of a child, but there was never any proof. It does make you wonder, now doesn't it. Can't say they're likely to be any too pleased with you, five lovely victims beautifully ensnared and you foul up the whole thing! And those human twins! Now, those are children I'd even be proud of myself! Such ingenuity! Such perseverance! Rather poor-spirited of you to steal their prey like that!" 

That got him a cold look, and he sighed impatiently, "yes, yes, I know he's yours now, but he wasn't then, not totally anyway, though the other one was, of course. Just how many do you intend to take, if I might ask? Him, the other one you started with . . . How many more?"

"Don't the other humans object to you and your people picking out so many of the special ones? I mean other than your own Clan members, of course; I'd think no one would mind your doing as you please among your own. But surely the, what do you call them, the Outlanders would prefer you at least limit yourself to ONE each of their kind if you MUST indulge! I mean, look at that great-great-great-aunt Tadarim of yours, for example! Five mates she took from amongst them, five, and that not counting the one young man from within the Clan itself! The rest - two females, one a dreamer and fashioner of design, the other a musician, then the scholar, and the two men, one a warrior, the other a poet. I never really knew about the scholar, in which camp that one belonged," he reflected.

Meghada gave him a conspiratorial grin, "the scholar belonged in Tadarim's camp, as did the others; all else is merely mechanics, Phobetor, an interesting but relatively unimportant technical detail."

"Well, all I can say is she must have had an absolutely enormous bed! Even bigger than yours!!" And they shared a knowing laugh.

She added, "well, Phobetor, if the Outlanders cannot appreciate the riches born amongst them, think to discount or treat them poorly, surely none can fault the Clan for reaching out our hands to them. WE are not so foolishly blind as to overlook precious gems strewn among the cobblestones, even if they are!" 

They talked of this and that, and truly Meghada thought it was a more sensible conversation than many she'd had recently, though that was possibly just a reaction to her time among the elite, both social and military.

Finally he sighed, "well, I'm afraid I must be going, my dear. Perhaps, with some concentration, I might come up with something to surprise you with next time. I'll certainly do my best. In the meantime, you've one or two in there I'd like to borrow, if you don't mind. I know of some who'd benefit from the experience."

"I think not, Phobetor. I don't want my ill dreams troubling others, nor giving any ill-intended individual any ideas; they seem to come up with quite enough on their own. It's been an interesting visit, but if you don't mind, I really do need to get some sleep. Tomorrow looks as if it will be a most interesting day; I believe they are going to decide whether to imprison me, shoot me, or give me a medal. I wouldn't like to wager on the outcome; I think the odds are pretty much even between the first two, the last being the long-shot."

He nodded with a smile, "I do believe you are right, my dear. Sleep, and sweet dreams," and he faded away.

She settled back down and, surprisingly, drifted off to sleep easily. She was not awake to see him reform, hold his hand out and pull that faint wisp, then another, from her mind. He whispered, a rather strange, almost gentle smile on his handsome face, "I think you will do better without these two, you know. Even if such should befall them, it will do you little good to think on it beforehand," and with that, he faded away once more. {"Really, a remarkable child! I do hope they don't shoot her; it would be such a waste!"}

She stretched, looked around her with little favor at the narrow room. As she started to get out of the bunk, she stopped, remembering. "What an exceedingly odd dream! Phobetor! I haven't even thought of him in years, not since my early studies. Bringer of ill dreams! Well, either he's been exceedingly busy, or he has a lot of competition nowadays." She wrinkled her nose, picked up her clothing and sniffed, then looked around at the room, a puzzled look on her face. "Maybe they're having trouble with the drains. Yechhh! That's as foul as anything I've smelled recently!"

And, when she wrote of her dream in her journal, she shook her head and wondered just how they'd take it, those who in the future might read that book of recollections. Would they believe, or would they puzzle over just what she'd had for dinner that night to cause such a disturbance in her mind.

And no, they didn't shoot her, nor did they imprison her, though they did scold her enthusiastically. And no, there was no medal, just a brief note in her file that, while she DID disobey orders, and WAS gone longer than she was supposed to have been, AND struck their Mr. Clivedon, well, she had been instrumental in the successful bringing back those three 'defectors', though they had strong suspicions she was also responsible for them disappearing again once back in London. 

Ainsley and the guys, she met up with them when she went to check on Briggs in the hospital; there were no outcries of thanks, and she hadn't expected any; they'd all gone out together, they'd got the job done, they'd all helped make sure they all came back together. It was simply what you did. Though that pint of whiskey Jimmy had slipped to her, well, it had been accompanied by a low, "he's my best china; hate to train another," and that had been the equivalent of a twenty-four gun salute from the extremely taciturn man. She'd nodded in agreement, and they'd parted ways, or started to when that Sergeant and his three men came to once again take her into custody. Ainsley heard that from Jimmy and decided he needed to take a drive to clear his head, a long drive, down Brandonshire way.

"An Expert Observer?? On a mission in deep country? And whose bright idea was that?"

"Colonel David, I gather. Garrison, I am beginning to think she's right, you know, with her idea that the man is senile? Yes, I know he's only in his forties, but it does hit early in some people; had an uncle like that, ended up wearing diapers and being spoon fed by the time he hit fifty. Saddling us with Clivedon is a prime example. Oh, he's studied the concept of guerilla warfare quite thoroughly, even wrote a book on it; we heard about it in the plane going over, all through the trek through the mountains; the man simply would not shut up, well, until he ran out of air. He could quote the names, the history, the great encounters with the best. He protested her being along, saying her being a female, she'd slow us all down; Lord, the look she gave him! But Jimmy almost had to push him out of the plane when it's time to jump, then he snared his lines. All the way incountry he whined and complained we weren't going about it correctly." Garrison and Ainsley shared a disgusted look. 

"HOW many missions have we been on as a team, Garrison? And WE aren't going about it correctly according to the Expert who's never actually been in the field, not once before now. We run into a patrol, go under fire, he freezes. He was the one closest to Briggs when Briggs got hit; he was actually in a position where he could have reached out and pulled him to cover without even much of a risk, but he fuckin freezes. Takes the Queen diving over the idiot, into the open, rolling and grabbing Briggs, pulled him up and over, dragging him back out of the line of fire. We take care of the patrol, get reformed, check the bodies, head back out, find the compound is heavily guarded and with safeguards NOT in the intel. Well, yeah, like that's any surprise. How long has it been since our intel actually knew what was what??! Thing is, the defectors AND the plans are on the top floor, back of a high stone wall. Problem is, Briggs is my climber, high-wire man, and he's down for the count. I'm coming up with an alternative, she says she can do the job, CLIVEDON gives us a direct order to scrub the mission. Hell, nothing I knew would have given him the right or authority to do that! And by then he'd given us another little detail the intel hadn't included." 

"Those three 'defectors' they were holding? We could see them through those upper windows by now. Kids, Garrison! Three little kids, oldest maybe twelve, littlest not even up to my knee! Well, Clivedon tells HER she's to stay put, tells ME to pack it in, at least for that part of the mission. Would you believe it, the reason he's along? Reason I didn't get the full briefing? If we can't get them out, we're to take them out! Forget about the plans, not so very essential after all. Figured I'd squawk if I knew up front; well, hell yes I'd have squawked, loud and hard; told them where to stick it! "Can't let them be used to get their parents to cooperate with Jerry. Unfortunate, of course, but really no choice. Have to look at the big picture, yada yada."

"Craig, I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of in this war, but I've never intentionally hurt a kid! My guys are looking at him like he's nuts; I'm getting ready to deck the guy, and . . . Next thing, she's gone, Jimmy and the guys are getting into position. He's livid, swearing he'll courtmartial her, orders me to go ahead and shoot, her too if she gets in the way. I didn't bother explaining she's not in the military so he'd have a hell of a time arranging a court martial; ignore the rest of his ranting, tell him to shut the fuck up before he brings down the whole damn lot on us; just gag him, let Obie sit on him while we wait."

"Carl sees her, relays the signal, then the oldest kid is over the wall, then another dropping down, Jimmy's getting them outta the way, then she's at the top holding the little one. I think the stone gave way, cause she falls, but making sure the kid comes down on top of her, not under. Surprised she didn't break something; she's gotta have bruises on top of bruises. He starts in on her and I tell him to shut up before he alerts the guards. Well, he holds his tongue til we're at the exit pickup, then starts back up again, and it was beautiful! She just hauls off and slugs the bastard and he goes down like a rock! We toss him in the boat and head out to the sub. Only bad thing, the guys were real disappointed; they'd already planned to draw straws to see which one of THEM were gonna do that!"

Craig Garrison just shook his head in disgust. "And when you got back?"

"Oh, pretty much what you'd expect. Briggs gets carted to the hospital; well, they pretty much had to, he was leaking again. Six hours on hard chairs, but at least with coffee and sandwiches. Then the debriefing, with Mr. Expert Observer tearing us all to pieces, the guys, me, but expecially her. Then, we get released, except for her, but when I ask about her, I'm told she's not my concern. Heard she spent the night under guard in the secure section. Musta released her, because next afternoon she shows up at the hospital, checking on Briggs then leaves. Before you know it, Jimmy's running back in; they've picked her up again! Scuttlebutt is she's under arrest pending charges. Like I said, David has to be senile or just plain nuts!" 

"And the kids?" Garrison asked.

Ainsley snickered, "funny thing, they just sorta disappeared. I was worried about that, I can tell you, til she gave me that little smirk she gets sometimes and winked. I don't know where they are, but I know they're in as safe a place as she could manage. Lots better than being with those assholes at HQ! No telling what they'd come up with!" 

"And I'll tell you something else; if they're thinking of trying to convince the good Doctors Theron to work for our side, well, they can forget it! Clivedon got a little carried away when he was lambasting her on the trip back; the kids heard enough, more than enough. The littler two might not have understood much, but the older girl, Maria? Oh, she understood plenty, and the look in her eye says she won't keep quiet."

"They all stuck real close to the Queen on the way back; the little one, Tomas? Clung to her like a monkey all the way; wouldn't let anyone else touch him, not even his sisters. A real cutie, pale blond hair, blue eyes, maybe three or four, no older; middle girl, Selena, maybe eight or nine, pretty much the same, though the oldest, she was a little darker, but still the blue eyes. Never saw her around kids before, the Queen; well, when would we? But she handled them real good, and faced Clivedon down whenever he got within stepping range, made him keep his distance. Didn't even sleep on the way back for keeping watch over them, that little one curled up in her arms, sucking his thumb, head on her shoulder like he belonged there, the other two right beside, their heads in her lap. She kept talking to them, real low, reassuring them. She kept her voice low when Clivedon came close too, but it was a hell of a lot more snarly than that voice she used with the kids, and if they were awake, I think they may have learned some new words their parents might prefer they didn't know! But, I'll tell you, I don't like it they still have her there; well, if that's where they have her by now."

Garrison looked a little grim himself, but reminded Ainsley of one thing, "you know, it's not as easy to 'keep her' as they might think." And they shared a companionable drink. Garrison was not looking forward to sharing all that with his men. Early on in their relationship he wouldn't have, even, but things were different now, a lot different. They were a team, but they were also a family, and that young woman HQ thought to keep confined, well, she was part of that family too.

They were on the firing range, had seen Ainsley pull in. Goniff glanced off in the direction of the Cottage; she hadn't been back earlier when he'd checked for their signal - three yellow pots on the wall, the only spot he could see from the vantage point upstairs. Sergeant Major took them over the obstacle course next, and then let them trot back to the Mansion to get cleaned up. He checked again, still no signal.

When they joined up for lunch, he asked, "saw Ainsley 'ere; any word when 'Gaida is due back?" He'd been reaching for the water pitcher when he asked, didn't see Garrison's face, but the others had.

"Craig, is there a problem," Actor asked, and Goniff's eyes widened as he looked at Garrison.

"There were a few complications. Finish eating, then we'll talk. Yes, she got back alright, so don't panic." They finished eating in silence, then adjourned to the Common Room. Garrison really wished he had a bottle handy, but he didn't. By the time he finished telling them the story, they were swearing and they were ALL wishing for a bottle, loud and fervently. 

"Your wish is my command, as always," came from the doorway, and they spun to see a tired but smiling young woman, long braid over one shoulder, lounging there, a bottle in one hand. She was greeted enthusiastically, with a combination of warm smiles, a slap on the back from Casino, and from Goniff, a warm embrace; the bottle was opened and drinks poured.

"So did ya make a break or did they let ya out?" Casino asked.

She laughed, "I was ready to do the first, when they decided to do the last. I have been officially reprimanded for disobeying orders and for belting Clivedon; been told firmly they do not believe me when I say I don't know where the kids disappeared to; been threatened with various dire things if I don't produce them at once; and Colonel David questioned my ability to work in the field after Clivedon's report, something about my 'lack of objectivity' and inability to follow orders. Threatened to terminate my contract; idiot seemed actually confused when I reminded them I'm no longer under contract and haven't been for some time; fool seemed to thing they'd BOUGHT me, not HIRED me. I expect to be hearing from them soon, so I thought I should come over and see you while I can. I met Clivedon on the way out, and, well . . ."

Goniff looked at her and started to grin knowingly, "you did, didn't you?"

She grinned back, "of course. I'll tell you one thing, their 'Expert' needs a few lessons in hand-to-hand, AND he has a glass jaw!"

Garrison shook his head, "you're determined to make me gray before my time, all of you! And to think I once thought YOU might prove a civilizing influence!" Still, he rather thought he'd have done the same thing in her position. In fact, he thought of those three kids and knew he would have.

The expected visitors from HQ never arrived; they'd been short-circuited by the rather crisp telephone communication from the Doctors Theron announcing the safe arrival of their three children at their place of refuge. The Doctors did not give specifics of where that was; politely declined the opportunity to share that information when it was offered.

"We do not think that would be advisable at this time." They expressed their sincere and eternal gratitude to Ainsley and his men, especially to the woman they'd heard referred to only as the Queen, for "safely reuniting us with our beloved children despite overwhelming odds and rather surprising circumstances. Maria has informed us of the additional lessons the children were given by Mr. Clivedon, particularly his lecture on "acceptable collateral damage" and "greatest good for the greatest number." None of us will ever forget any of that, you might be assured. The vocabulary lessons from the Queen are also appreciated, though perhaps the children will need some guidance on when and where their new words and phrases are appropriate to be used. We are still trying to work out translations for some of them; we just sorted out 'sister-loving three-humped camel' and 'two headed sand-viper' this morning after our daughters used them at the dinner table with our hosts last evening while describing Mr. Clivedon. We are simply going to have to get more adequate translation dictionaries to work on the remainder. Maria and Selena have expressed an interest in learning to speak Celtic and have told me they found it a language more capable of expressing deep emotion than English, or even Spanish or French. They are also asking for lessons in weaponry and hand-to-hand combat; we are strongly considering acceding to their request. Of course, we discount our son's intention of marrying 'my Queenie' when he grows up, though she has perhaps spoiled him for the charms of any lady of refinement. Refinement can be, we have decided, much overrated." 

A transcript of that communication made its way to Meghada and to Garrison, much to everyone's amusement. When Garrison inquired about that 'place of refuge', he was given a serene smile and a calm, "I'm sure it is a place they will be safe, as much as anything like that can be guaranteed. Perhaps even a place where language lessons and various others might be obtained quite easily."

Goniff did get some teasing about the new competition since, "she has already proven to have a rather remarkable weakness for small blue-eyed blonds." He just gave them a cheeky grin and told them, "face that when the time comes, mates. Sounds like I've got plenty of time to get 'er convinced to stick with me. Just a tike, 'e is; take 'im a while to brace me, it will. Probably be able to win 'er over by then, if I put my mind to it."


	2. I'm Still Me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a mission brings even more complications than usual, a bewildered Goniff finds himself cut off from the team. The fight to regain his rightful place is not an easy one, and he meets with unexpected resistance from Garrison and the guys. Can he, and they, meet the challenges and find a way to go on with their lives, changed though they might be?

They'd been off on a mission, she'd been gone when they came back. She'd checked and was surprised to see no signal, no ribbon, hanging from the balcony. That wasn't like Goniff, she knew; never had he failed to arrange that silent word to her that he was home again, and she worried that he'd been hurt, perhaps in that little hospital their family used, though maybe it was just that the whole team was late in returning.

Coming back from a trip to the housegoods store where she'd heard that they had indeed returned to the Mansion, she met them on the road, exchanges brief greetings, but Goniff wasn't with them; she started to ask, then she saw him off to side, watching, seeming somehow bereft, rather lost. She let them go on their way with a casual, "I'll talk to you later," noting for some reason they were all relieved at that, leaving quickly almost as if escaping. She decided to ignore all that for now, headed over to the blond Englishman. The closer she got the more clearly she could see he was obviously upset, sad. 

"Goniff, love, what's wrong? Why aren't you with the guys?"

"They won't talk to me, 'Gaida. I don't know what I did, but they won't even look at me." He was shaken, his eyes bewildered still, but he smiled slightly in spite of himself at her welcoming hug, her warm kiss; that was something he could always count on, no matter what. They sat on a roadside log bench, talking; he explained he'd been to the Mansion, but it was no better there; they wouldn't talk to him, even acknowledge him, not even the guards.

"The Warden, Craig, 'e wouldn't let me come in, 'e just shut the door in my face, acted like no one was even standing there, like I didn't exist!"

He needed no urging to return to the Cottage with her, she fed him, they talked some more; seemingly he didn't remember a lot about the mission, just their sudden change in attitude towards him. "Thought they were going to leave me, 'ad to rush to climb in the plane, almost got the door closed on me; it's like they didn't want me with them anymore. I don't understand, 'Gaida."

Well, she didn't understand either; the men were like brothers, and while brothers could get annoying sometimes (she had several, so she knew all about that), you didn't abandon one of them, no matter the provocation, and the silent treatment was, by necessity, a short lived thing, at least in her family - usually the one trying it simply forgot and started interacting, only to remember later; they all laughed about that whenever it happened. 

She poured him a drink, called the Mansion, got Garrison. "Craig, about Goniff . . ."

Only to be cut off, an oddly tight, almost desperate note in his voice, "I can't, not tonight, Meghada; I just . . . can't. Tomorrow, we'll talk tomorrow."

She was left holding the dead phone in her hand, her frowning down at the receiver, now getting seriously annoyed. Turning to the forlorn figure seated at her kitchen table, putting her hand over his, she offered, "I'll go up tomorrow, see what I can find out, laddie; in the meantime, another drink and then a shower and bed, yes?" And in the warmth of the night, their arms around each other, she pulled him back from the nightmares, soothed him, then loved him sweetly til he rested, slept, exhausted. Her temper was starting to flare, never a good thing. {"They're his brothers! How could they???!"}

The conversation with Garrison was like something out of a nightmare. He ground out the words, barely able to look her in the eye. "Goniff . . . . Meghada, he didn't make it back. I'm sorry; God, I'm so sorry!" He recounted a simple accident on the exit route, a fall, Goniff hitting his head on a rock. Again the 'I'm sorries' filled the space between them. 

She was totally bewildered, as the others were nodding at her, quiet, dejected, but bearing up the story Garrison had just told her, which since she'd just left Goniff sitting in the garden at home sipping tea and eating fresh scones was frankly unbelievable.

She was crisp with them as she retorted, "well, for a dead man, he ate a remarkably good dinner last night, and an equally good breakfast this morning. And if his sleep wasn't particularly restful, I assure you he was lively enough last night and this morning too. Just what the hell are you talking about, Craig Garrison??! Have you all gone mad? How could you treat him like this, try to pull a stunt like this with me??"

They exchanged looks, clearly thinking she'd gone mad, just as she was sure they had, if they believed any of the nonsense she'd just been told. They assured her of their facts, tried to convince her, then tried to soothe her, suggesting she was in shock at the news, in denial, offered to drive her home, said they'd send Doctor Riley and Sheila to her, offered to contact her family. She dismissed all their offers and left, slightly in a daze. 

{"Now how do I explain this to Goniff?"} she thought as she made her way back to the Cottage. She remembered what they'd agreed to tell each other, once they both had realized they couldn't promise to come back from the jobs they were sent on; there were just too many unknowns, too many hazards, too many things that could go wrong. They'd decided on parting each time with a warm hug, a kiss, and the words, "I'll do my best to come back, I promise. And if I don't, if I can't, know it wasn't by choice. And, if I don't, please . . . know I tried, and - remember me."

As unbelievable as that conversation had been up at the Mansion, she let her knowledge of Garrison, of the guys, guide her, and she brought in AJ and Sheila, long-time Clan Friends and, as such, well used to unusual things. While she could see and hear and touch Goniff just as always, to the consternation of all concerned, it seemed she was the only one who could. Patrick and Ciena had no better luck in that respect, though they confirmed they could somehow FEEL him present. 

Both Meghada and Goniff being basically pragmatic by nature, they shrugged and settled down to making a new life without missions and training and everything else, though she could tell he missed contact with the guys. He didn't even dare write his Mum, as that 'condolences letter' had already been sent.

Meghada left the Cottage only when necessary, growing weary of meeting with the guys and having them treat her like she was delusional, in need of a keeper. Once she'd returned home to find them waiting for her, all intent on something called an 'Intervention', somehow intended to "make you face reality".

If she was furious, that didn't come close to what Goniff apparently was feeling. A shocked and bewildered Garrison and team left quickly in the aftermath of the clatter and shattering of the coffee cups as they were dashed off the kitchen table by an unseen but thoroughly pissed off, thoroughly frightened Goniff. She followed Garrison out to the jeep, ranted at him, "and what's next, you selfish bastard? An exorcism? Just because you are so bound by your feelings of guilt and jealousy that you are unable to accept a blessing when it is given? Just because it interferes with your preconceived notions of what is and what is not possible? Don't come back til you're able to actually open your stupid mind!" 

Now she worried about just how safe they were at the Cottage, just how far the guys might go in their efforts to 'help her overcome her delusions'.

Although she didn't know it then, Chief had actually gotten the guys to back off, telling them that he had sensed something there in the Cottage even before the incident with the cups, and "no, it wasn't her doing it; I'm sure of that, Warden. FELT like Goniff, know what I mean? Like he was in the room, but maybe hiding somewhere." While that didn't make them feel any better, it did make them hesitate to take any further action immediately. 

Not knowing any of that, she thought they should test to see if Goniff can travel from the Cottage to elsewhere, just in case they need to move their base of operations; they didn't get very far, only about an hour away before his increased discomfort forced them to turn her car around.

Caeide made a special trip down from Haven to set up some extra wards, Meghada never before thinking she'd have to ward against the guys, but worrying that what they might consider 'helpful' might prove to be anything but. She and Goniff both found some comfort in the easy acceptance Caeide gave the situation, her taking care to keep track of where Meghada was looking, making sure she followed suite, including Goniff in the conversation, with Meghada doing some fast voice overs.

After her older sister left, Goniff confessed, "I liked that; she made me feel like she was really including me." Sipping at his glass of whiskey, he wondered, "why does everyone else seem to 'ave such trouble seeing me, that and all the rest, when YOU don't?"

She smiled knowingly, "well, I've always SEEN you, haven't I, love, right from the beginning? And Dragons, that's one of their gifts, their talents, that they can see treasure where no one else can," and that got a shy laugh from him. 

He still had his doubts sometimes, knowing how restricted her life had become since this odd thing had happened to them; once even brought up them finding a way to "cut me loose, let you go on with your life without 'aving to worry about me.' Only her firm assurances that she's not such a fool as to turn away from the gift they've been given, and that she'd just follow after if he were to leave.

"Well, haven't I always told you that? In this life or into the next, love," and with that he was content. She was content as well, though it had been a bit hard having the entire village treat her as if she was slightly touched. Still, no one was unkind (except for Doby, who was his usual nasty self); many even indulging her, asking about Goniff, telling her to give him their regards, and not in a mocking way, not at all.

It had been several months now, things settling down to a predictable routine, when Goniff started to feel different somehow, become anxious. At times, they'd be talking and he'd start to fade as if drawn away. On a hunch, Meghada cornered Chief, the only one who sought her out anymore, told him what had been happening. The guilt on his face shocked her, but nothing like when he confessed the truth to her - that Goniff hadn't been dead, not quite, when they left him, but with death imminent.

Stunned, she listened while he told of their Underground contacts, an old shepherd and his daughter who agreed to care for Goniff for those last hours, them having to make that plane with the information they carried and the pickup spot still being several hard hours of travel time in rough country. It had been apparent Goniff was in no condition to be moved and unlikely to be alive within the half-day, and Garrison had no choice but to move out, to refuse to let one of them stay behind due to the presence of German forces and no way out afterwards. That put entirely a different light on the subject. 

Goniff was becoming frantic, needing to know, something, anything, and her heart tore at his anguish. Making him promise to wait, to stay with a hastily-summoned Ciena at the Cottage and not try anything without her, she left for that far mountainside where the team had so reluctantly left their teammate.

The answers she found were not easy ones. Goniff had lingered for more than a month in that shepherd's hut before passing quietly in his sleep. According to the old man, during that month, sometimes he seemed to be mending physically, but always remained bewildered at where he was and why, not really remembering much of anything, never talking but just a very few times.

Tia, the daughter, had just given birth to a baby boy, and admitted, hesitantly, that Goniff was the father; that his vague sweetness, their mutual need and loneliness had drawn them together sometimes in the long nights. Tia asked her about what kind of man he was, before the accident, knowing what she'd seen was only a mere shadow of what had to have been.

Meghada smiling, told her, "the kindest man I've ever met, strong of heart, smart, oh much smarter than he tried to let people see. But dangerous, too, fierce when he needed to be, and very loyal to those he cared about."

Tia looked into those gold brown eyes misted with tears, "you loved him very much."

"Yes, I loved him, I still do, I always will".

The young woman hesitated, looking down at her child, "will you take the babe? I can't care for him, can't explain him when the others return; if they see those eyes, that hair, they'll think I'm a collaborator with the Germans; they'll likely stone my father and me, and him right along with us."

Meghada looked at the tiny newborn, the wide mouth, hazy blue eyes and pale hair, and eagerly holding out her arms, just as eagerly agreeing. "I welcome him - my family will welcome him as one of their own, as if he were born to me, that I promise you, Tia."

She didn't bother to explain to Tia that she would be following after when Goniff finally took the Long Road; she rather suspected that time might be approaching fast, though she had learned not to anticipate the future, it having proved most unpredictable so far. Still, his child would be well cared for, well loved in any case, and would learn to know, respect and love his father.

What she had in the way of funds she left, in consideration for the care they'd given the man whose grave was nestled along with several others in a corner of the grasslands. Yes, she'd visited the grave, could feel that it was truly his, though didn't reach too deeply, not sure what effect that might have on the laddie she'd left behind in the care of her sister.

She returned to the Cottage, anxious to see Goniff, to know he was still there, wondering more than a little how Goniff would feel about the gift she'd brought him. He was shocked, not remembering, not aware of anything that had occured in that small shepherd's hut, but was fascinated with the baby, a babe that looked so much like him, and even as young as he was, the child's eyes seemed to follow Goniff when he moved about, seeming to have no difficulty seeing the one no one other than Meghada could see. He laughed when Goniff played with him, gurgled when Goniff patted him.

They found that Goniff could balance him in place, hold him if Meghada placed him in the slender man's arms or on his lap, but couldn't pick the baby up on his own; there seemed to be a weight limitation. Goniff watched her care for the child with such love in her eyes, wondering at her acceptance, but came to see that she truly bore him no ill-will for what happened with Tia in the mountains. She gradually saw Goniff settle, content once again, that restlessness disappearing as if it had never been. She wondered sometimes if that hadn't been his spirit sensing Tia's need, his child's need. 

She thought it was Mrs. Wilson who finally approached the guys, scolding them for neglecting her 'and the child' that caused them to show up at her door again, since she'd not known quite how to tell them herself. With Chief leading the way, they were willing to try to understand, or at least accept the reality of life at the Cottage now, though the recounting of her story about that eventful trip to the mountains had them stunned. Still, when they saw those pale blue eyes and pale blond curls, that wide mouth with the familiar grin, they could not help but believe somewhat.

They were disheartened to think they'd left Goniff, when maybe he would have had a chance if they'd somehow managed to bring him back, but got some comfort in knowing he ended his days in peace, leaving this legacy. She and Goniff found some small amusement at their trying to balance those emotions with the knowledge that he hadn't quite 'ended' his days, not yet, though neither were so hard-hearted as to find amusement over the mixture of guilt, loneliness, and just all around misery Garrrison in particular was feeling. After all, theirs had been a special relationship, one they all three deeply missed.

Chief found he could still feel Goniff's presence, and the others were getting used to having things move around while they were there. The baby, Davy, 'David Rodney', took to each of them immediately and they coddled him and spoiled him, laughed with him, even though the sight of Davy seemingly floating above the chair seat or in mid-air still disconcerted them somewhat. 

Chief, in a rare contemplative mood asked her - "if he was alive before, and there, how was any part of him here, with you, with us? How were you able to see him, touch and be touched, and we couldn't? And if he's dead now, how does he, what remains here with you? What is he now?"

They watched the baby bottle leave its warming pan on the stove, saw a few drops fall as if being tested, then the bottle movedto the waiting baby in the raised rocking cradle a few feet away - seeing that so familiar grin on that tiny face, seeing those eyes track a figure unseen to Chief, those tiny fists waving with excitement, and heard that tiny gurgle.

She smiled with quiet contentment. "What is he now? He's my laddie, my love, just as he was before, with some few, relatively unimportant limitations. He's a father, with a son to love and cherish and care for. That's what he is, Chief. And still is he brother and friend to you, and to the others, if you wish it, if you can accept him as he is. He is not so much changed, just . . ." and a slightly amused smile comes to her, "just a trifle less in sight." 

A chuckle escaped her as a cup and saucer, calmly on its way from the sitting room toward the kitchen went flying as the rug rumpled suddenly on the floor, and a chair crashed to its side. As the chair righted itself, and shards started to gather themselves in a heap, they shook their heads in unison.

She explained, "and just as clumsy as ever, as you can tell!"

Chief let a slow smile come to his own face, "yeah, I can see that. Goniff, you ever gonna learn to pick up your feet?" and Meghada saw that gamin face she loved so much brighten, these the first words he'd heard from any of his team mates that directly addressed him in so long now.

*"Well, don't look like it now, does it? Though, this least in sight thing makes snaffling stuff a 'ell of a lot easier, Chiefy, even if I can only do the small stuff, and 'ave a 'ell of a time 'iding what I do take. Not so much fun, though, in some other ways."*

Chief stiffened, his eyes showing his shock. He licked his lips, "Goniff! I HEARD you! Meghada, I think I heard him, not out loud, but inside my mind! Is that possible?"

She grinned now, delight showing on her face, "I don't see why not. I do, and far more."

And when Garrison and the others came in the kitchen door, it was to the sight of a three handed game of cards being played, shot glass of bourbon at each place, pile of matches in the center and at each of three places, a conversation in play - two parts out loud, the third more a whispery tickling in the mind (at least so far), the first steps had already been taken. 

There would be others, that whisper turning into a voice just as audible as any of theirs, at least to them, once they were willing to address him directly, accept that he was capable of responding to them, along with a sense of where he was, usually anyway, when he wanted them to, sometimes even a faint glimpse of that so familiar face and form.

Before long, after a certain hard-headed American officer finally accepted the value in accepting reality, soft whispers were added to the murmurs and croonings in the darkness, in the comfort and warmth of that big bed.

At the pub, the other customers became accustomed to the fact that there was always an empty chair at their table, pulled out just the right distance to hold a slender body, and a glass of beer sitting at that place, a glass whose contents seemed to evaporate as the evening went on. They came to think nothing of it, just another example of the odd ways of those at the Cottage and the Mansion, nothing to be concerned about or gossiped about either, just like they didn't gossip about how the guys and the woman spoke of Goniff in the present tense, sometimes even TO him, just like he were still here. Well, the O'Donnell lass had never much liked being gossiped about in the first place. 

As she'd told Chief, Goniff wasn't all that much changed, just 'a trifle less in sight', 'with some few, relatively unimportant limitations', none of those limitations hampering their sharing of their regard for one another. And together, they made a home for Goniff's son, their son, and if one of Davy's fathers was a bit different than most, well, as Meghada had explained to the boy, so were his mother and aunts and grandmother and grandfather, right along with his Uncle Chiefy, and Uncle Casino, and Uncle Actor, and Uncle Michael and . . .^

**  
Phobetor was livid as he stood there glowering at her, rousing her from her sleep - "I don't know why I even bother with you anymore! I really worked on this, you know??? I come up with a masterpiece of a dream, full of sadness and betrayal and jealousy and abandonment and death, even an illegitimate baby, and you, what do you do? You turn it around to one of those 'happily ever after' endings I despise so much! I keep adding in new splashes of sadness and bitterness and dashed hopes to counter your blasted positive outlook, and you keep coming back with something else to overcome it. Really! A ghost, an incorporeal presence still able to fill your bed and trip over the rug and play cards and drink bourbon and fix baby bottles! Who the blazes do you think you are, Mrs. Muir??? Even she didn't have a baby to deal with, and she didn't even think about bedsports! I give up! You're just HOPELESS!" 

Her laugh, though sincere, was a silent one out of consideration for her sleeping bedmates. "Mrs. Muir?? Somehow I never pictured you a fan of modern fiction, Phobetor."

He flushed, which was an interesting effect since he was wearing his favorite eagle-head aspect this evening. "Well, you know what they say, 'all work and no play . . ."

Her laugh turned into a giggle, "you under no circumstances would be what I'd call a 'dull boy', you know!" taking in his majestic build, bronze gleaming skin, oh, and that eagle's head on his shoulders; that loincloth he wore did rather show him to advantage as well.

His look became more speculative, eyeing her unadorned form with more interest than he'd ever shown before. "You think so? Really? Well, I admit I don't find you as dull as most mortal females either."

"Down, Phobetor! My mother warned me about you immortals. 'Lovely to look at, to be sure, but fickle as the wind, and you'll make enemies you can't counter if you look in that direction too closely!' No, I'll stick with my own lads."

He was not greatly put out, him having a multitude of lush choices as companions, but had to give her a snide retort, "is that why you felt the need to take two of them to your bed, to make up for that prohibition?"

"If it gives you comfort to think that, please go right ahead," she told him with a wide grin.

A soft muttering came from her side, and a sleepy whisper, "'Gaida??"

"Goodnight, Phobetor," she chuckled, rolling over into the warm embrace of her loves, both of them quite alive and quite corporeal, and snuggled down to sleep the rest of the night away - well, maybe not the entire night.


	3. "He Trusted You!!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew that in wartime sometimes you had to expect the unthinkable to happen. But when Meghada commits the ultimate betrayal, Craig Garrison finds himself unable to forgive and forget. Did she just destroy any chance for their future happiness, theirs and the team's?

Major Kevin Richards sat the locked briefcase on the round heavy wooden table, unlocked the chain that bound it to his wrist. The other men stood looking at the smooth tan leather of that case silently.

"With what it is holding, you would think it should be much more impressive, would you not?" Actor remarked in a low voice to his team mates.

The invasion plans for the Allied Forces, the plans that would, hopefully, bring an end to this long war lay within that innocent looking briefcase. The guys were clustered on the far side of the fireplace, watching Richards and Garrison at the table. There were three others in the room as well, Meghada O'Donnell unofficially acting as guard for Richards, it being thought no one would think it suspicious for her to be riding in with him considering their long acquaintenance. Truly, if anyone had wondered, well, the fact that she'd been in London on a shopping trip and her car had experienced a breakdown explained her presence in that staff car. She was dressed in a long skirt, blouse, jacket, certainly not in fighting gear.

The other two men, both high ranking officials in the Ministry, had arrived within only minutes thereafter, one of them, a stooped milquetoast of a man who blinked incessently and tended to simper, explaining somewhat embarrassedly that, "it was decided that it would be best that there were witnesses, especially considering . . ." but breaking off the explanation with a brief, furtive look at the men.

Casino just rolled his eyes, and snorted in a low voice, "yeah, no telling what we might do when we know what's going on!" Well, they were all used to being distrusted; they didn't like it, especially in this case, but they were used to it. 

The taller of the two men, Clyde Battersea, cleared his throat, "yes, well, as Lord Curry says, we are here to witness the opening of the case and the review of the material, and making sure it all stays where it should be. Please don't be offended, Major Richards, Lieutenant Garrison; it is merely a precaution." Battersea was a much older man, probably in his mid-sixties, dry and stiff; there was talk he'd retired from public life some years ago, had even served as a Protestant minister before coming back to public service because of the war.

Chief noted to himself that the two guys weren't so worried about offending them; the stoic look he shot to the others let them know his thoughts, and they agreed. Business as usual. The big surprise was anyone thinking of having them present here in the first place; no one had explained just why that was, or what role they were intended to play, if any.

{"Yeah, business as usual; let us fly in the dark til it all hits the fan, then we get the rap if it all goes south!"} Casino's thoughts were echo'd by those in Actor's head as well. Chief, well, who knows what he was thinking. Goniff had his usual vacuous mask on; he'd play the odds, like always, however the cards fell. Of course, if he didn't play them the way the rule book said they were to be played, well, no one who knew him, had watched him play solitaire, {"red four on red queen; that should work well enough",} would have expected him to.

The case was opened, the material spread out, Garrison reading, asking questions, finally pulling back, motioning toward the maps to ask Major Richards a question, though it never got voiced, for there was gunfire from the outside; Meghada pulled her revolver and Richards hurriedly shoved the contents back into the case, locked it. Before he could reattach the chain, however, he was struck from behind with the revolver firmly in the grip of the young woman.

She moved back, with one eye watching him fall insensible to the floor, the revolver holding the others at bay. "Poor Kevin. I imagine he'll have quite the headache when he wakes up. Only the start of his headaches, to be sure. Well, he always did say I was born to be a trial and a tribulation to him. He can at least take consolation in being proved right in that if in nothing else." She moved forward and grabbed the case in her left hand.

"Now, everyone just stay still." She was keeping her eyes moving, the guys beside the fireplace, Garrison on the other side of the table, Battersea on the far side. Curry was outside of easy range, off to the left and slightly to her rear, but he was the least dangerous in the room, and she didn't appear too worried. She slowly started backing toward the door.

"Meghada! What the hell?" came from Garrison. The guys were too shocked to say anything, and the bewildered look on the slender pickpocket's face was quite telling.

"So sorry, Craig. But really, do you have any idea how long I've waited for something this big? How many years of putting up with those idiots in London, getting shot at and traveling in all those obnoxious tin cans, stuck in this tiny village in the middle of nowhere, staying under the radar? Waiting for just such an opportunity as this? Do you have any idea what the market price for the contents of that briefcase would be? I do believe I can name my own price!"

The outcry from the fireplace was anguished, "no! 'Gaida, no, you can't do this!"

Actor tried unsuccessfully to catch him as he dashed forward, but he was too fast and Chief somehow was between, in the way. He was in front of her now, just couple of feet away; his blue eyes were horrified, pleading. He slowly reached out one hand for the revolver, "come on, luv, just give it to me. It'll be alright, just 'and it over. We can explain, you didn't really mean it, any of it! It'll be alright, all of it!" Everyone froze, waiting.

Her smile was gentle now, loving, caring, a smile they'd seen her give him a hundred times at least, "I'm sorry, laddie, truly I am. You really are a dear. I'll miss you."

And the shot caught him in the chest, caused him to gasp and tumble to the floor, red flower blossoming across his khaki tunic before he crumpled forward onto his face.

"Goniff!!!" The name came from different throats, all filled with shock and dismay, pain.

The revolver focused back on the others before anyone could move, as stunned as they were. The team now looked as if they could tear her apart with their bare hands; Garrison was dead white as he looked at that still body on the floor. He could have sworn the shot had hit HIM, the way his chest felt; would have much preferred it to be so, than to have him standing here looking down at someone who meant so much to him, on so many levels, someone he couldn't imagine living the rest of his life without. He started to move, to lean down, but her sharp, "ah ah! Stay where you are!" stopped him.

He raised his anguished eyes, "he trusted you! He LOVED you!"

And she nodded in calm agreement, "yes, he did. Well, it wouldn't have worked without that, you know. He was my entree into YOUR trust, a way around the security here, and through that, an entree into so much more. It's a pity though; he really WAS quite lovely in so many ways, made the past months much more bearable. I would have taken him with me, you know. But although he DID trust me, did LOVE me, he was faithful to YOU, you and the team. Most unexpected, that; most unfortunate," and there was a slight hint of regret in her voice, in her eyes. Not much, mind you, but just a trace.

Her voice got just a little indignant, as she addressed Garrison, the others. "Well, you couldn't have expected me to let him live! That would have been cruel, letting him live with the knowledge that he'd been duped; that it had all been just a fantasy, don't you think??! I couldn't do that to him; as I said, he was really a dear, quite, quite lovely! And besides, his loyalty really should have been with me, not with you!!" And the look on her face wasn't pleasant any more, more a fervent pout, a building resentment showing there as she looked at Garrison. 

Lord Dustin Curry had eased closer to her without her noticing; he had much the same ability that Goniff had had, Actor thought, the power to make himself appear innocuous, someone easily dismissed. The thought brought a fresh pang to his heart. It just didn't seem possible, that the little Cockney was dead, and to be struck down by the woman standing there, one Actor would have sworn, bet any sum of money, loved him with all her heart.

Curry made a move, quickly, but not the one those who'd been watching would have expected. He grabbed the case, shoving her into Garrison's arms; at the same moment Battersea shoved that heavy suit of armor into the guys, and the two of them were out and gone, locking the door from the outside as they went, blocking it with that heavy chest that sat just outside. Battersea had janked the phone cord as he passed, as a final indignity. 

Meghada started to straighten, started to say, something, who knows what, when Garrison grabbed the gun with his right hand, and with his left hit her, hard, backhanded her across the room into the bookcases. She'd made no attempt to counter the blow, though in retrospect he would realize she could have gotten in her own blow first with the position she was in if she had tried; she was a rather vicious hand-to-hand combatant. She went down like a rock.

Garrison stood over her, yelled at the guys, "Actor, get to Goniff. The rest of you, get that damned door open," reached down and grabbed her shoulder, shook her. "Get up! Damn you, get the fuck up!!!." She didn't move, was limp in his grasp, and he pulled hard to drag her upright.

"Lieutenant Garrison. Please control yourself; let her go. Have they gotten away clean?"

Chief had been watching from the window and replied calmly, "yeah, out past the gate and gone!"

"Splendid, splendid, just as we'd hoped!"

Garrison looked, no longer comprehending, lost, at a grimly smiling Kevin Richards standing there; the look on Richards' face was one of bitter satisfaction, the one on Garrison's, total bewilderment. He looked at Actor and Casino, but the looks on their faces were just as confused as what he knew had to be on his own. He released the shoulder of the woman he'd been in the process of hauling to her feet; he was uneasily aware that he was unsure what he'd intended to do once he got her there.

The puzzlement didn't get any easier when a raspy complaint came from the khaki-clad figure on the floor by the table, "ruddy thing stung like blazes! Gonna 'ave bruises on my lovely, lovely self I am!"

Garrison and Casino's heads jerked in shock! The small blond levered himself to his feet, wrinkling his nose at the sticky blood covering his chest. Actor, who had been in the process of reaching to turn the small man over onto his back, was too stunned to even help.

Glad cries then came from around the room, though Garrison didn't have enough breath left to make a sound. He felt dizzy from the shock and put one hand on the table to steady himself. Meghada had slowly rolled over to sit flat, pulling her knees up in front of her, feeling the side of her face.

"Craig, you hit like a bloody mule!"

She dreaded looking at his face, at his eyes; she knew what the last few minutes had to have been like for him. Still, she was no coward, so she slowly raised her face to his, "I'm sorry it had to go down that way; I can only imagine . . ."

Goniff frowned, moved forward rapidly, holding out his hand to grasp hers and help her up, "coo, luv! Gonna 'ave some bruises of your own!" as he gently touched the side of her face.

She gave him a slight smile, "that's for sure, and I think I might have cracked a couple of ribs on that bookcase."

Actor moved to stand next to Garrison, carefully reached down and took the revolver from his hand. "I don't think you'll be needing that now," he murmured quietly, and the look in Garrison's eyes told him the turmoil going on in the man's mind. While Actor didn't think Garrison would have shot the young woman, then or now, all of a sudden he wasn't so very sure after all. {"Best to just take the gun, just in case."}

"So anyone gonna say just what the HELL is goin on?" Casino demanded in a strident voice.

He wasn't expecting the quiet voice, "a con, Casino. One a the biggest we ever pulled."

Casino stared at Chief, his jaw dropping. Actor and Garrison followed suit.

"You knew??! You knew and you let us think the little Limey was dead??! That she'd killed him???! You nuts??! One a us coulda . . . !!!"

Major Richards let out a deep sigh, "gentlemen, you are all due an explanation. There is a bottle waiting in the next room, I believe?" inclining his head toward Meghada, who nodded. Casino went to fetch the bottle, Chief got the glasses, and everyone sat.

Garrison was running the gamut of emotions from shock, fury, back to shock, then to heart-stopping relief, then anger, confusion, and was considering working his way right back to anger again. A strong, able hand gripped his shoulder; pale blue eyes met his, solemn, understanding, pleading for understanding in return, "I know, Warden, I know. Just 'ere us out, alright?"

And he took a deep breath, took a deep drink and sat back to hear the tale. He'd listen, he didn't think he could ever forget, possibly ever forgive, but he'd listen.

Well, he'd listened. Now, Garrison glared at Richards and Goniff and Meghada, added Chief into the mix and then decided to make it a general purpose glare and included the others.

"Were you ALL in on this??!" The looks on Actor and Casino's face told me they hadn't been, and were none too thrilled at that by a long shot.

"No, they weren't, Lieutenant. Just as you weren't told. It was vital that this appear real, deadly real. The looks on your faces, your horror, your pain, couldn't have been replicated. We needed that for them to believe, truly believe in what was happening, be willing to give up all they've worked for for so very long in order to obtain what was in that case." That got him a glare.

"But why Chief?"

"Meghada and Goniff assured me, over my protests, that that was necessary; her getting a knife through her heart would hardly have been helpful at any stage of the game, and they both were quite sure he would be able to maintain his usual stoic manner. Not only that, we needed at least one man in the know in a position to stop the others if things got totally out of hand."

Richards tipped his glass to Meghada, "magnificent job, by the way, my dear."

Goniff protested, "ei, and w'at about me?"

Richards gave him a cool look, but with a sparkle of amused appreciation in his eyes, "as far as I could see, Goniff, all you did was have a couple of spoken lines and got shot and fall down! Hardly a match for HER performance!"

Meghada shook her head, considered a smile but decided her jaw hurt too much for that. "Actually, Kevin, the whole scene was his idea in the first place!" That got some very odd looks indeed, and a disbelieving face from Richards.

Goniff grinned that cheeky grin, "see, Major, was remembering this little job I . . . I 'eard about, once." Somehow that look on his face put some doubt as to the veracity of the coming story, or perhaps only on the 'heard about' portion. 

"So, this bloke, 'e gets 'imself 'ired as an extra guard, then snaffled the goods 'imself during the fighting between the bloke what first planned the job and the rest of the guards! Then, turns out the other bloke knew about the second bloke's plan all along, and let the second bloke brace 'im and make away with a perfectly lovely forgery! Course," and now the grin was more than a little sheepish, "once the bloke w'at planned the job got the real piece back to 'is little safe spot, 'e takes a better look, and 'e finds out the old man w'at owned it 'ad already substituted a forgery, so w'at 'e'd ended up with wasn't any different than the other bloke. Found out later the old guy turned in the theft to 'is insurance company for a bundle, AND sold the real painting for even more! Now there was a crafty one!"

Richards looked from the grinning second-story man to the highly amused young woman who was listening to all that with such warmth and appreciation when any sensible person would have been frankly appalled, and then back again to the small man clearly showing he was quite well pleased with himself.

He shook his head. The days when he'd thought of the little pickpocket as someone with useful skills, though slightly silly, clumsy and not overly bright, as well as lacking in any physical courage, well those days were long gone. That did not necessarily improve his view of the man, however, as he had steadily replaced those mistaken impressions with other highly undesirable traits. He was starting to come to the conclusion that, in contrary to his earlier opinion, not only did these two belong together, they bloody well deserved each other! And that was not a benediction!!!

Meghada would have grinned at the look on the British Major's face if she could have done so without her eyes watering. Damn, Craig did have one HELL of a punch!!

Richards explained the history, "we had it narrowed down to five possibilities, none of whom the Crown would have accepted a word against, not without rock solid evidence and we had damn all of that. We were convinced there were two of them, working together in private, but having little or no contact in the open. We had to pull them out of their deep cover. I took the chance of discussing this with one of the most devious minds I know," glaring at Meghada, getting a raised hand and a partial grin in return, "and SHE insisted on bringing in another highly devious mind," sending another glare over to the slender pickpocket who arched a brow in amused recognition of that highly dubious compliment, "and after some discussion, it was determined how better to pull deep cover agents out into the open than to offer something so tempting ANOTHER long-time, hitherto unknown, deep cover agent was willing to come out of hiding to snatch. And, yes, I suppose the first suggestion in that line DID come from him, now I think on it. Well, you know how it works, Lieutenant. A word here, a half-overheard whisper there, a meaningful glance, a piece of paper almost burnt to ashes. We baited the trap and SNAP!" 

One part Garrison kept coming back to in his mind, a question, well ONE of the questions he needed answers to. "Why Goniff? Why not me, or one of the guys?"

The look he got from everyone told him he was missing something, something everyone else saw quite clearly. Actor explained, "but Craig, it appears to me that it was essential that her victim be Goniff for the greatest impact. Killing one of us would not have been such an obvious sacrifice on her part, not to their minds. We were supposedly her occasional working partners, perhaps her friends, but NOT her lover, not someone she truly seemed to CARE for. How valuable must that briefcase have BEEN, for her to not only come out of hiding, but to actually sacrifice a man she'd taken to her bed, into her life? No, there was no other reasonable choice." 

Goniff spoke up, subdued for once, knowing just what a toll that little scene had taken. "And besides, who else would 'ave 'ad the absolute confidence that she wouldn't shoot? That was a big part too, in w'at they were seeing; that I didn't 'ave any doubts; that I was so sure she wouldn't 'urt me that I'd walk right up to 'er, right into that gun. That made the ultimate betrayal all the more, well, poignant; 'orrible but some'ow making it crystal clear just 'ow valuable that case was." While the accent remained the same, the slip in the wording was a sign that he wasn't unmoved by the scene either, Meghada thought. She wondered if anyone else caught it; there was a faint hint of amusement in Chief's dark eyes that told her he might have. 

She nodded, "and he had to be that close, you see. Otherwise the velocity of the dummy bullet would have to be much greater, could have actually caused injury, instead of just having enough push to pierce his shirt and the wax pouch of blood. I checked that damn gun a dozen times, kept fingering that one dummy bullet, making sure I could distinguish it by sight, by feel, by the sound of the click as the cylinder moved to it. Turned that cylinder again and again, making sure, til I thought I was losing my mind. Kevin had suggested the other bullets be real in case they were needed, but I finally realized I couldn't do that. Couldn't take the chance that somehow, someway . . . So I had my source make a full set of the dummies. Had my small pistol with real bullets at my waistband in back under my jacket, just in case." That gained her a glare from Richards, as she hadn't bothered to mention any of that to him previously.

She swallowed heavily, and pushed her glass toward Chief, who seemed to have ended up with custody of the bottle. "Half a shot, no, better make it a full one. I'm starting to get a little queasy." That raised a few eyebrows; everyone else's stomach had been roiling for quite a while now. It was good to know she actually DID have nerves after all.

The talking had quieted enough, the attention on Goniff relating some bits and pieces of that earlier job. Meghada reached out a tentative hand to touch Craig on his forearm.

"I meant it, you know, about being sorry. But it was YOUR face, Craig, the look on your face when he went down, your reaction that led Curry and Battersea to take the bait."

He nodded, understanding, acknowledging that. Not forgiving, he wasn't ready, couldn't do that yet, the pain had been too fierce for that. But he DID understand, she could tell, and she hoped forgiveness would follow. Oh, Blessed Sweet Mother, she did SO hope! 

He looked at Richards, "and now? What about those two?"

"We have watchers on all roads; they'll be allowed to make their escape, hand over the information, all of which is, of course, totally inaccurate. That should cause some interesting results in Berlin."

"And when Berlin finds out it's fake? When they ask those two questions and the answers lead straight back to here?"

"I said we will allow them to hand over the information, not that they would be allowed to depart along with it," looking over at the redhead leaning back in the big armchair, leaning an icepack to the side of her face, eyes half-closed. "We are hopeful they did not pass any details on prior to their move here; we think they wanted to keep the glory to themselves, also keep any failure to themselves. Still, we will keep our ears and eyes open, certainly."

Garrison poured himself another drink. Richards was long gone. The men were in the Common Room, soon to head to the Dorm, hopefully to sleep, though how that was possible he really didn't know. He thought he might never sleep again, was afraid he'd keep reliving those brief minutes, that oh-so-familiar loving smile, the shot, the vision of Goniff hitting the floor, blood everywhere.

Meghada had returned to the Cottage intending a stop by Doc Riley's to have those ribs and jaw checked, and he knew Goniff had headed out an hour or so ago to join her. He watched the flames in the fireplace, seeing pictures in the flickering shadows, not even turning his head when the door opened.

Actor took in the scene, sighed. "Go on, Craig. You need to talk to them both. Richards was right, you know. We would not have been able to fake our reactions, you, Casino, me, not well enough."

Garrison took another sip. "I just keep seeing her standing there, see her shooting him, so calmly, not blinking an eye, that damned smile on her face. Hear her saying in that detached voice, "most unfortunate!"

Actor laid his hand on Garrison's shoulder, "go, you need them both, and I rather think they need you just as much. Go on." Garrison didn't move, and Actor sighed and turned and closed the door, leaving him sitting there watching the flames.

Actor was discussing the unsettling events with the others when he heard the door open and close, the steps heading toward Garrison's bedroom; heard them pause and then heard the footsteps on the stairs and the opening and closing of the big front door. They exchanged a long look. 

"He gonna be okay?" Chief asked in a worried tone.

"I believe so. It was not an easy thing to see, not a comfortable thing to believe even for such a brief period of time. But I believe he will be well, though it may take some time." Well, perhaps the morning would tell the story.

Goniff answered that hesitant knock at the kitchen door. Craig Garrison was admitted without a word, drawn into warm, sheltering arms, and words, well words played little part in the reconciliation, the acceptance that followed. There was no passion, not then, it was far too soon; Meghada wouldn't have wagered there ever would be again between her and the man who'd watched helplessly as she'd torn his world apart, and now she made no attempt to touch him, not even a kiss on the cheek, just as he did not touch her. She knew that he couldn't handle that, not now, accepted that.

She watched as her own laddie cradled the one they'd hurt so, knowing at least there the passion, the loving would continue. Blue eyes met her brown-gold ones, and he whispered "give 'im some time, 'Gaida. It'll be alright." He looked down at the man sleeping in his arms, "it 'as to be alright." And she hoped, prayed, that it would be so. 

** 

Phobetor was back standing at the foot of her bed. He was pouting again, she could see. She eased herself upright, wincing at the pain in her ribs, her face.

"Doesn't that hurt? I mean, with the beak and all? It looks like it would," she asked curiously in a very low voice. It was Phobetor's pout she'd used in her role earlier; it was easy to recognize.

"Yes, actually, it does. But it completely expresses how I feel at the moment so I'm putting up with the pain. Sometimes, young woman, I get most annoyed with you. And with that man of yours as well! I so rarely visit him, you know. He, like you, has more than enough uncomfortable things floating around inside, enough to hardly make it worth the effort. But I made such a good attempt this time; I thought I had the perfect bad dream for him, and what does he do? He tells you about it! Now why would he do a silly thing like that considering the dream was starring you and with you betraying him and the cause he is fighting for, and then murdering him for money and politics?? It makes no sense! Most men would start worrying, becoming a little uncomfortable around you, wary perhaps, but certainly would never TELL you about it! Then YOU, you turn around and use my lovely little present to run a con! I feel dreadfully used! I think I deserve some payment for the part I played, you know!" 

She couldn't help but give a soft laugh, "well, I'm afraid you'll just have to be satisfied by knowing you served as our muse!" He started to puff up again with indignation, but the expression slowly changed from one of being offended to one thinking the matter over carefully. She watched as his expression became rather proud, with a pleased smile adoring his handsome face, "a muse, do you say??! Well, I've never been called a muse before. You know, I rather think I like that. Thank you, my dear."

She smiled at him in some gentle amusement, "you're most welcome, Phobetor. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go back to sleep, and the lads, well, they really don't need to be awakened. They've both had a very rough day, you know."

He nodded, "yes, I know," looking at the two men sleeping next to her, both to her left, first Goniff right next to her, then Garrison to the outside of Goniff, puzzled at her caring, even for the one who couldn't even touch her now, wanting to understand but lacking the ability to do so. 

He sighed, "well, I'll go see if there's anyone else who might need my attentions. Perhaps the others at that big house," he started, only to see her reproving frown.

"Phobetor, they are very much like us, you know. They each have enough in their own minds, their own spirits, to trouble them; they really wouldn't be good subjects. Surely there is someone else you might find more amusing, someone with nothing to compete with your gallant efforts. I could give you a few names if you run short."

He sighed again, "you are probably right. Well, the night's getting on anyway; perhaps another time. Goodnight, my dear." 

And he watched from the shadows as she slid back down into bed, pausing to very lightly, carefully, cautiously stroke the gold-blond head at the far side, then with more assurance the flaxen-blond one curled next to her, dropping a gentle kiss onto his forehead as well. He heard her murmur soft and low, "sleep well, my loves. Sweet dreams attend thee."

He shook his head in bemusement, {"for a Dragon, she is oddly tender."} But then he remembered the Dragons of old, and he had to shake his head once again, {"that old story, the Lady or the Dragon. I always thought it rather a pity when they changed it to a Tiger; I know they were much more common than Dragons by that time, but somehow it removed a certain mystique. But still, the story, the choice of doors; I wonder how many realized each door led to the same place, the same creature; it was just a matter of which aspect of the creature would be awakened to greet the visitor."}

 

Epilogue:

Things had been strained between Garrison and the young woman, the whole team could see that. Goniff was worried, but still hopeful.

Then, one day, it all changed, and the tension was gone, as if it had never been. That night, he was the one who pulled her into the middle of that joint embrace; he was the one who kissed her, laughed and turned her toward the slender Englishman on the other side of the bed to receive his kisses as well, and their world slid easily back into its comfortable pattern.

It was obvious to the team the next day, and everyone was relieved, but only Actor had the confidence to bring up the subject with their commander over a drink.

"So you decided you can accept what happened, move past it? What changed your mind, if I might ask?"

Garrison sat back, thought a moment, "it was that smile that bothered me so much, Actor. That she could stand there, face him, and shoot - all wearing that same smile, the one she seemed to have just for him, the one I'd always thought showed just how much she cared, how deep her affection ran. Smiled as if nothing had changed, and just shoot! That's what got me; I couldn't get past that image."

Actor nodded, "yes, that bothered me too, at the time, until I had time to think. You were very upset, of course, but it took you rather longer than I would have expected, you know, to realize." 

Garrison had a wry look of embarrassment on his face, "too damn long! OF COURSE it was the same smile; for her, nothing HAD changed. That was her smile meant just for him; yes, she was using it to tell those two he meant something to her, certainly, emphasizing just what, just how much she was willing to trade for that briefcase. But just as important, perhaps more importantly she was using it to tell GONIFF that he could still trust her, that nothing had changed between them." 

"What finally made you come to that realization," Actor asked with some curiosity.

"I was asleep and heard him shift from . . . well, heard the nightmares start, just the change in his breathing. I was starting to rouse, thinking to wake him, and realized she'd heard too. I kept still, kept my breathing even, listening, just barely opening my eyes to watch; I had a feeling whatever I was looking for, trying to figure out, the answer was very close. Actor, I watched, listened," he paused, took another sip, his voice strained with emotion, "the sheer love in her voice, so low I could barely make out any words, not that I could have understood them since they were Celtic, of course; the gentleness in her hands and face. She is a superb actress, I'll admit that; but all of that, there in the night, I'd stake my life none of that was anything other than the absolute truth. She brought him out of the nightmare, but never woke him; she kissed him, just barely touching, settled back down, and she waited, I could tell by her breathing, waited til she knew he was soundly asleep again before she let herself sleep. If that was anything other than absolute, total unconditional love, I can't imagine what it could have been. I don't know what it would take for her to betray him, if anything ever could, but I know it sure as hell wouldn't be money! Maybe the fate of the entire world . . . Maybe." 

He shook his head ruefully, "luckily she's a forgiving one, at least sometimes; apparently she, well neither of them are blaming me for acting like an idiot. Goniff even told me, "coo, Craig, just think a the number of times she's forgiven me for being an idiot, she's 'ad plenty of practice at it!"

And the two friends shared a quiet laugh.

"I'm glad for you; what you have, it's too good to lose over a misunderstanding of each other's motives." He took another puff at his pipe, cautioning, "it will not be easy, you know."

Garrison nodded again, "yes, I know; but I've discovered, the really good things rarely are easy; but still, they're well worth the fighting for."


	4. "I've Decided You Are A Very Bad Influence!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrison's deepest fear has been realized when he totally screws up and is the only one of the team to return from a mission. Alone now, abandoned by the military he served and the friends he thought he had, he seeks only oblivion. That is, until faint whispers from the past cause him to make one last desperate roll of the dice, betting all that remains to him on the outcome.

He couldn't remember what had happened, only that he was the only one to make it back; a concussion will sometimes do that, blur the memory. The doctors had every hope that his memory would return, but they made no promises. He just knew somehow it was his fault the others never returned; well, it had to be, of course.

And the military had no more use for him; they'd made that plain enough. No one would speak to him even in passing up in London; Kevin Richards had even looked away, as if in disgust. The Mansion was silent now, empty; there was no need for the guards, for the Sergeant Major, not now that the men were gone. He'd watched as the last of the files had been packed up and loaded on the truck, watched the convoy pull slowly away, watch the big padlock go on that heavy chain now blocking the entrance. 

He'd thought to go to the pub, maybe get a drink, but found himself here, standing outside that metal gate. It was standing open, not in welcome as before, but as if there was nothing important left to guard. Here too was silence, both in the garden and in the cottage. He'd never known silence could HURT before, but he now knew it could, it did. It hurt all the way to his bones, all the way to his soul. 

There was little left inside; he didn't know whether Meghada had packed everything and left before the end, or whether the family had come and done that when she, as promised, followed Goniff on what she'd called The Long Road. All he knew was that it was empty, no furniture, no books, no piano or guitar. Even the kitchen counter, the cupboards were stark and bare, doors standing open like wailing mouths.

He walked through the place, room by room, remembering the music in the sitting room, the quiet discussions in the library, the meals shared, and in the bedroom - ah, the peace and comfort he'd found there with them, the love. He silently made his way back out the kitchen door, facing into the walled garden, once again remembering - here was where they would sit and have morning coffee; there was where that plaid blanket had been spread to welcome them on that warm moonlit night; there . . .

He stopped, realizing he'd never seen that before, that narrow waist-high obelisk topped with the stone sphere; he could have sworn there had been a sundial there in that particular spot. Moving closer he could see writing going up each side, words - no, names spelled out in a long elegant script. He used his fingers to trace each, gently, repeating what his eyes, his fingers told him. "Actor, Chief, Casino, Goniff,". He frowned then, realizing there were two more sides. "Meghada . . . Craig!" He'd thought at first it was a memorial, but if that was the case, why was his name there as well? HE'D come back, had supervised the packing up, written the necessary letters, completed the final reports.

He ran his fingers over each name once again, then lifted his eyes to that stone globe on top. Something about it drew him, almost as if a voice whispered to him, offering . . . Well, he wasn't sure what, perhaps Truth, perhaps Hope, maybe Forgiveness, maybe even just Oblivion, an end to his miserable worthless existence. Still, no one else seemed to be offering him anything at all, and his mind flew back to the pub that night when she let the Red Duchess judge those who'd hurt Chief. He remembered, her actions, the story she told - the marble globe turning to crystal as it made its exchange with each person there, as it judged Truth, and delivered Justice. He remembered as well that time at the Mansion, the silver bowl, the knife, the flame - all that she had used in her quest for Truth, her arcane search for Goniff when the imposter had tried to take his place. That vision faded, only to be replaced by the scene in the Common Room, when she'd thrust her hand into the fire to bring a message to him, a message that helped him find his way.

He closed his eyes now, swallowed deeply, and let his cupped hands rest on that marble sphere, laid his soul bare for a judging of its own, a pleading he didn't dare make aloud. The stone was cold, like ice, though gradually warming to the heat of his skin, and then, without warning, hot! Hot almost to the point of burning, and then far past to where he could feel his skin, then his flesh blistering, peeling away, but he held his hands in place as the stone turned to pulsing crystal, somehow knowing the pain was part of what he was offering up.

He never knew how long he stood there, but the stone was cool again against his undamaged skin, stone, not crystal, and a sundial, not a sphere-topped obelisk. Gradually he heard voices from behind him, from inside the cottage; then one voice, slightly closer, speaking directly to him.

"Craig, are you not hungry then? The others are already in their place, and I'm ready to put the food on the table. Come along, you know how impatient Goniff gets where food's concerned, and Casino keeps snitching bites off that cheese crust; pretty picture it's going to make by the time I put it down on the table!" and the redhead smiled at him in gentle inquiry. 

"Craig, is something wrong?"

He didn't dare say a word, just shook his head and walked toward her, and then into the kitchen. She'd told the truth; the others were already gathered around, waiting, welcoming smiles on their faces, Goniff and Casino already arguing about something totally inconsequential, Actor pretending to be above any of that nonsense but with a twinkle in his eye, Chief just shaking his head, drawing back his chair to rise and help Meghada get everything from the oven or on the counter.

"The Mansion . . ." he started, and Actor broke in, "will you please stop worrying about the Mansion, Craig? You know Sergeant Major Rawlins is taking care of things there; he is most capable, you know. Just enjoy what we are being given." 

Craig Garrison looked slowly around the table, his smile even slower in reaching, settling firmly onto his face, into his eyes, and nodded, "you know, Actor, you're right. Let's do just that," and started filling his plate. He noticed that it was Italian this time; she didn't make that too often, so Casino must be in her good books for right now, though not for long, by the sight of that mangled lasagna topping. That was fine with him; whatever she chose to make was fine, as long as they were all there, safe, enjoying it together.^

**

Phobetor stood at the end of that wide bed, his eagle's beak almost gnashing in frustration. Meghada stirred, looked up, puzzled at his presence; her sleep had been untroubled, which was not usually the case when the immortal paid her a visit. Still, she sat up carefully, nodded in greeting, "Phobetor?"

He snapped his beak a time or two, and let out an annoyed hiss. "I've decided I am wasting my time here, with you and yours! It was bad enough that YOU keep making my lovely dark nightmares turn all soft and pink and SWEET! Now, you have THEM doing it! I might have expected it from the smaller one, I believe he's a bit of a romantic at heart, but the other is a Military Officer, for Hades' sake! I don't believe it! He just took a perfectly fine nightmare of unexplained loss, abandonment, guilt, fear; the loss of all familiar territory, any hint of comfort or understanding; he took all that and turned it into a family dinner, with Italian food at that! There's just something really WRONG about that, young lady! I've decided you are a very bad influence on him, on them both!" 

He didn't much appreciate the giggles she couldn't quite keep inside, but the sight of the god of nightmares pouting like a two-year old was just more than her sense of the absurd could handle. Finally she calmed enough to tell him, but still with a grin on her face, "well, I do understand how aggravating that must be, Phobetor. Maybe next generation you'll find someone more accommodating," and watched as he faded, still muttering to himself, "well, I certainly hope so!"

She turned to look at the two men beside her, full approval on her face now. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, but it still registered enough to bring a faint smile to the faces of both blond men laying there, "it's proud of you both, I am, truly. He's not such an easy one to confound, or so I've been told."

Goniff muttered back, "you're cooking Italian for dinner, 'Gaida? Tomorrow, maybe?" and Craig Garrison gave a tiny hmmmph, and in an equally low, sleepy voice, "you're dreaming again, Goniff. Don't you ever think of anything besides food?" and turned back over and drifted off to sleep, this time a much more peaceful one.

She lay on her back, looking up into the darkness, still chuckling slightly at that pout on the immortal's face. She made a note to write about this in her journal, to give those who came after some hint of how to deal with him, if he decided to visit again. In some ways, she almost thought she would miss him. Well, no, maybe not.


End file.
